Classic Poem

A Sword of Light hath pierced the dark, our eyes have seen the star.
O Mother, leave the ways of sleep now days of promise are:
The rusty spears upon your walls are stirring to and fro,
In dreams they front uplifted shields — Then wake, Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

The little waves creep whispering where sedges fold you in,
And round you are the barrows of your buried kith and kin;
Oh! famine-wasted, fever-burnt, they faded like the snow
Or set their hearts to meet the steel — for you,
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

Their names are blest, their caoine sung, our bitter tears are dried;
We bury Sorrow in their graves, Patience we cast aside;
Within the gloom we hear a voice that once was ours to know —
'Tis Freedom — Freedom calling loud, Arise!
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

Afar beyond that empty sea, on many a battle-place,
Your sons have stretched brave hands to death before the foeman's face —
Down the sad silence of your rest their war-notes faintly blow,
And bear an echo of your name — of yours, Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

Then wake, a gradh! We yet shall win a gold crown for your head,
Strong wine to make a royal feast — the white wine and the red —
And in your oaken mether the yellow mead shall flow,
What day you rise, in all men's eyes — a Queen.
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

The silver speech our fathers knew shall once again be heard;
The fire-lit story, crooning song, sweeter than lilt of bird;
Your quicken-tree shall break in flower, its ruddy fruit shall glow,
And the Gentle People dance beneath its shade —
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

There shall be peace and plenty — the kindly open door;
Blessings on all who come and go — the prosperous or the poor —
The misty glens and purple hills a fairer tint shall show,
When your splendid Sun shall ride the skies again — Mo Chraoibhin Cno!